Six Years: Thanks For Reading, Again!

Six years ago today, there was an Event.

All right, I'll dispense with the capital "E".  Undeniably, though, something started that day.  I know:  I started it.

It may not have changed the world at all, or even my own life very much.  Well, at least not in ways most people would see.  But it has made my life a little more interesting.  After all, it's brought me into contact with people I never would have expected to encounter.

It's also caused me to reflect on some of my experiences, which has been, at times, enlightening. 

I am talking, of course, about this blog.  On this date, six years ago, I posted my first "dispatch", if you will.  At the time, I really had no idea of what directions it would take.  My only intention was that it would be related, in some way or another, to cycling.

I also had no idea of whether anyone would actually want to read it--well, except for one person: "Velouria", the author of Lovely Bicycle. She encouraged me to write about some of my cycling experiences and reflections after reading my other blog.

Anyway...I've never come close to having as many readers as she's had.  That's all right.  I never felt discouraged about how few readers I've had at certain times, though I'll admit I was delighted to see that last month, I had more than 40 percent more page views than I had in any previous month (just over 20,000 vs. just over 14,000 in my best previous month). Also, I am thrilled to see that page views are coming from places I never would have expected, like Finland and the Ukraine. 

The thing that keeps me going, however, is that I purely and simply enjoy doing this.  Hopefully, you get at least as much pleasure out of reading my posts!

Afternoon Delight With The Rocket Thrower

I had an Afternoon Delight today.  No, it didn't have anything to do with that.  This is a blog for PG audiences!

All right, that all depends on how you define PG.  Anyway, my afternoon delight was a short but sweet (ah, the cliches!) ride via a circuitous route to Flushing Medow Park.

Tosca seemed content to ride and fade into the background.  She had the chance:

I mean, if she wanted to camoflauge herself, could she have picked a better spot?

Actually, I think she looked quite lovely there.  The folks in the New York City Parks Department do a nice job.

Even if the arrangement had consisted entirely of lilies, Tosca would have been hiding in plain sight of this icon:

The Rocket Thrower clearly has his sights elsewhere.  Good thing:  He probably wouldn't want to see some of the things that go on right at his feet.  

For that matter, he probably wouldn't want to hear, either.  When he was unveiled, for the opening of the 1964-65 World's Fair (held in Flushing Meadow Park), some people said absolutely terrible things about him.  One of the most merciless was the New York Times art critic (who else?) John Canady described The Rocket Thrower as "the most lamentable monster, making Walt Disney look like Leonardo da Vinci".

Robert Moses, the "master builder" behind the Worlds' Fair, famously sneered, "Critics build nothing".  So, perhaps, it isn't a surprise that he tried to console Donald De Lue, the sculptor of The Rocket Thrower.  "This is the greatest compliment you could have," Moses said.  "[Canady] hates everything that is good."

Hmm...I'll admit, it certainly doesn't compare to Da Vinci or Michelangelo or Rodin.  Or even Brancusi.  But it fits into something like a Worlds' Fair, especially one in the age of space exploration.  And, on his lofty perch, nobody can take "selfies" with him!

At Least It's Not Electrical

Maybe I am old.  After all, I can recall a time when we didn't munch on "energy bars" or anything with the word "energy" in its name.  In fact, such terms--let alone the often-inedible snacks they denoted--hadn't yet been invented.

At least, not as such.  You see, there were other high-calorie bites that became our foods of choice when we needed a boost--and could be easily stowed in bike jersey pockets, tool bags or backpacks.  

One was "gorp".  Upon hearing of it for the first time, most people weren't sure of whether it was the sound of an alien swallowing or vomiting.  But the word was actually an acronym for "Good Ol' Raisins and Peanuts"--not, as some believed,  a synonym for "granola" or "trail mix", though gorp is certainly a type of trail mix.  In time, people started mixing the raisins and peanuts with M&M's or other bits of chocolate.  (I have always liked miniature nonpareils--milk chocolate in those days, dark chocolate now.)  Often, almonds, pistachios, walnuts and other nuts were substituted for peanuts--which are legumes, not nuts--and dried cranberries, cherries, blueberries and other fruits for raisins. 

We used to pack a couple of fistfuls of gorp, or other trail mix concoctions, into fold-top sandwich bags like the ones made by Glad. (If I recall correctly, Ziploc hadn't been invented.)  We did the same with granola:  Back then, nobody had thought to make grainy candy bars out of it. 

Aside from those concoctions, the most popular proto-energy snack was probably the banana.  In those days, I was riding with the Central Jersey Cycle Club and the Century Road Club.  One--or both, perhaps?--used to designate their rides with bananas:  a five-banana ride was long and/or involved a lot of climbing or other difficult conditions, while a one-banana ride was a "social" Sunday afternoon ride.  

While granola and trail mix had more calories and could keep you feeling full until your lunch or dinner stop, the banana was easier to eat and swallow, especially if your mouth was dry.    Also, although food allergies weren't as well-known, we knew that some people had trouble digesting, or simply ingesting, some of the concoctions I've mentioned.  (Who knew that one of the most common allergies was to peanuts?)  On the other hand, while banana allergies have been documented, they don't seem nearly as common. At least, I've never known anyone who couldn't eat bananas for that reason.

Bananas have one problem, though:  While they're easy enough to stash, they're even easier to trash.  And, in the process, they can trash whatever you stash them in.  All right, that's a bit of an exaggeration.  But if you're of my generation, you might have had a banana "explode" or "implode" in the pocket of your wool jersey.  Needless to say, it made a mess.

Perhaps such a memory inspired the creator of this:

 


I mean, really.  But, hey, it's versatile, right?:

 


Would this be allowed in states with a concealed-carry law?:


 


Then again, it's not that difficult to get a banana stain out of a pair of Levi's 501s.  Trust me, I know!

Do you think this is a joke?  Well, here's the real joke:  the price.


At least, neither the bike--nor the banana--is electrical.



 

The Day After A Ride: Memorial Day

Yesterday I rode to Greenwich, Connecticut.  Upon arriving, I propped my bike on a park bench, where I drank some Poland Spring water and munched on Welch's fruit snacks.  (Strange combination, perhaps?)  More to the point--at least for the purpose of this post--that park bench stood to the side of a memorial to Greenwich residents who died fighting in World War II, Korea and Vietnam.

Now, if you've been reading this blog for a while, you've noticed that I've written a bit about the roles the bicycle has played in the military.  As interesting as I find that aspect of cycling history, I hope that no one has construed it as a love of war on my part.

As anti-war as I am, though, I still believe that those who have served--and died or suffered life-altering injuries--should be remembered.  (One of the most shameful facts about this country today is that there are veterans living under bridge and highway overpasses.)  However, I abhor the rhetoric that celebrates the violence of war, or that touts service members for "making the ultimate sacrifice" for "our freedoms" or some such thing--especially since such treacly phrases are so exploitable by the worst, most opportunistic, politicians.

Instead, this day should be an opportunity to remember, rather than memorialize, them.  That they lost their lives or limbs or eyesight at such early ages is, in itself, tragic and thus in need of remembering.  Also to be remembered, though, are the ones they left behind:  the mothers, the spouses, the siblings, the other loved ones whose lives will never be the same.

We Began With An Epitaph

My family began
on the Fifteenth of November
the day my uncle was born.
1934:  There was no spring
or fall that year, only
bare trees twisted
in the wind
                  like my grandfather's
arm, jabbing the air.  "Winter's
gonna be long and cold.  Nothing
we can do about it."

My uncle was named Christopher
in the middle of his father's
desperation:  that year, a struggle
until summer.  Somehow he grew...

Christopher, you grow in my mother's
stories.  You climbed trees
to the attic. 
                   You had
a view of Flatbush Avenue, like the dark
river you saw
from a hill in Korea
which we know only as the Fourteenth
of April, 1953.

Riding To Trees And Light Ahead Of The Storm

Tomorrow we're supposed to have torrential rains, courtesy Tropical Storm Bonnie, ready to slam into the Carolinas any second now. To me, it's one thing to start a ride with the possiblity of rain, or even in a shower.  But riding in a hurricane or monsoon is beyod the limits of even my insanity!

So, I am happy I embarked on today's ride.  For the first time this year, I pedaled to Connecticut and back.  True to other predictions I heard, I saw very little traffic, even along Boston Road in the Bronx or in downtown New Rochelle or by the state line.  Almost anybody who planned to travel this weekend is already at his or her destination and will probably return tomorrow afternoon and evening.

Aside from the light traffic, today's ride was a delight in other ways.  For one thing, I rode Arielle, my Mercian Audax, again.  (The flat just before the state line on my return trip wasn't her fault!)  And while the temperature reached 33.3C (92F) in downtown Greenwich, the heat didn't feel oppressive until the last few kilometers (out of 125) in the Bronx and Randall's Island.  That may have had as much to do with my relative fatigue (I wasn't drop-dead tired!) as with the weather.

But what I found most enjoyable was the light of this day: the kind one might see, depending on where one is, on the cusp between late spring and early summer.  Thin wisps of clouds dissipated the sun's refulgence to make it reflect the former, but that light was bright and warm enough to signal the arrival of the latter.  I especially noticed that light around the trees by the war memorial in Greenwich.

Those trees reminded me of one of the loveliest coins ever produced in this country.  In the late 1990s, the US Mint inagurated a series of quarters, or twenty-five cent pieces to the rest of the world, commemorating each of the fifty states.  The Connecticut quarter is my favorite:

US Mint Image

Anyway, I noticed something else rather interesting during today's ride.  Quite a few people were riding bikes.  Some were families; others were on social or training rides.  Most of the riders in the latter category were men; most were on road bikes and the rest on mountain bikes.  Fixed-gear bikes were conspicuously absent. 

On the other hand, I saw a few riders on fixies yesterday after I crossed the city/county line into Nassau County on my way to Point Lookout. Not as many as I might see in Williamsburg or even my neighborhood of Astoria, but enough to be noticeable.  One reason might be that the terrain on the South Shore of Queens and Nassau County is completely flat, while there are some hills in Westchester County on the way to Connecticut. Also, the riders seem to be a bit older in Westchester than on Long Island and, at least from my observations, fixie riders are younger than other riders.

Whatever...I had another great ride today.  What else can I ask?